


Sleepover Gossip and Possibilities

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Sleepovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 12:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: Thomas overhears an interesting conversation, and tests a theory.





	Sleepover Gossip and Possibilities

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't intending to watch a whole new series in one day, read a load of fics and then write my own but HERE WE ARE.

“So... what does one _do _at a sleepover?”

Alison thought; it had been at least twenty years since she last attended a sleepover (or at least, a sleepover that was termed as such). “Plait each other's hair, paint each other's nails...” she trailed off. Right, no can do. And watching films was probably out too, given it would attract every other ghost in the house and Kitty couldn't eat popcorn anyway. “Talk about boys?”

“Ooh, yes! Tell me all about Mike.”

Alison shrugged. “But you already know Mike. And we're married, so not much gossip there. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you've got to have some stories to-”

“Oh, no. A lady didn't... I wasn't lucky enough to get married. Before.” 

“But what about since?”

Kitty looked at her blankly. “Since?”

Alison waved at the room. “You know... here.”

“I never thought about it...”

“Never thought about it? But... you've all been shut up here for years. You're so bored you have talks on how to milk a cow!”

Kitty tittered, hiding her face behind one hand. “No, never.” She laid the hand on Alison's arm – or at least, placed it where it would have been could they touch – and laughed again. It was infectious, making Alison smile in response. “Besides, with who?”

Well that was a question, wasn't it? Pat was lovely, but the two of them would never get anywhere, and besides, he was still in love with his wife. Julian, just no. The Captain was reasonably handsome, even if he could be a bit of an arse sometimes, but going by the looks he was giving that director... maybe not. “Thomas?” she hedged. At least he was definitely, annoyingly, expansively interested in women.

Kitty gasped. “Thomas? Me and – me and Thomas?”

“Or Mary. Whatever.”

“Oh!” Kitty giggled. “You're very _modern_, Alison.”

–

Thomas shrunk back behind the doorway. Neither ghost nor love had noticed him. His love! Spurned, so. Cast aside by his one true partner like alms for the poor. Bestowed, like a hand me down, to Kitty.

Although. The concept in general was... interesting.

He roamed the house, floating from room to room until he came upon the library. “Captain!” he exclaimed. The man in question stooped over a table, where Alison had arranged military history magazines, open to various full page articles.

“Can't you see I'm busy, I-”

“No, I-” He poked him. It worked of course; he'd already known they could interact in this way. But somehow he'd never thought of it further. They didn't touch, generally. When you got used to going through every object you tried to pick up, it became second nature to avoid the possibility. Despite their clamouring and arguing, the ghosts tended to sidestep each other, like dancers in a courtly routine.

“What are you-”

“We can touch.”

“Has it taken you two centuries to figure that out?” Thomas looked at him, and just shook his head mutely. “Then what is this about?!”

“Just something... something I overheard. Kitty and Alison were talking. It doesn't matter.” He spun on his heel, and strode from the room. He should take a turn, out by the lake perhaps. There was a lot to consider.

–

“Matter?” The Captain said to himself. “Blast,” he muttered, abandoning the magazines and marching up the stairs to where Alison and Kitty were having their “Girls Night”, as they had taken to referring to it. Quite why, he wasn't sure. Neither of them were under the age of sixteen.

He slowed outside the room, and, back still ramrod straight – he wasn't _eavesdropping_ after all, just patrolling the house, checking all was well – cocked his head to hear better.

“...and so then you can do this little flick with the liner pen... and that's called a cat's eye style...”

“Oh I _wish_ I could wear it like you.”

He rolled his eyes. Damn that Thomas. Talking nonsense again.


End file.
